Deception
by Fugue
Summary: Corporate mogul Erik Destler has it all: fame, riches, and success. He has everything except happiness. Would the reappearance of his wife Christine, who is not aware of their existing marriage, and her son change that?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. I only own the plot. I am sorry if the plot happens to be similar to other works; I assure you, it is not intentional. If you feel the need to contact me regarding the plot, please do so via the personal messenger or review. Thank you.**

**(A/N) Should any of you notice grammatical errors that may or may not have been glaring at me at the moment, please indicate so in a review. Much obliged. Constructive criticism is very much welcome as I am only starting to venture into writing POTO fanfiction. Thanks.****

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**Prologue**

The servants have been dismissed for the night. After all, she did want to serve her husband as a wife should.

Everything is ready. The lights are dimmed, romantic dinner music is ready at hand, the table is set for two, and the gourmet food that she herself prepared is placed on the table among the expertly folded napkins and wonderfully arranged flowers.

Yes, everything is set – all that was lacking is the man of the house.

The woman smoothened out nonexistent creases on her silk skirt. She turned to the grandfather clock in the sitting room.

_He should have been home by now._

Full of nervous energy, she stood up from her position on the couch and headed towards the full-body mirror.

Her pale face stared back at her from the mirror. Rich brown eyes once full of the vivacity of life are now shadowed with anxiety and tentative fear. Cheeks that used to be rosy on its own are now painted on to hide its almost sunken appearance and sickly pallor. Lips are chapped under the mask of red lipstick and eye bags hidden by concealer. Her bouncy curls are tucked neatly into a bun. Anyone looking at her would think her a woman jaded by worldly issues rather than a maiden barely out of teenage life.

Apparently, months of wedded bliss pass very quickly.

She glided on the marble floor as though a specter haunting a gloomy place. She sank back into her seat and carefully bent her head in despair.

The week was wrought with tempests in their household, pulling husband and wife apart and creating a rift that was nearing a state that could not be mended. A storm is building up and she is determined to stop it from occurring; most especially due to the knowledge she gained that morning.

The clock chimed the next hour.

Her husband is really late.

She let out a sigh. He probably did not think that she would stay up to wait for him nor would he have guessed that she wished to surprise him.

A faint sound of an automobile parking was heard.

He is here.

Delicately, she stood up and took one last look at the mirror to ensure that she was presentable enough before moving to open the front door for her husband.

The massive door was opened to reveal a seemingly inebriated masked man, marked by his unbalanced stance and the unkempt appearance of his usually tidy hair.

"What're you doing up so late?" He slurred as he entered his home with uneven steps, tossing his briefcase and keys on the couch as he did so. "Did I tell you to do so?" He breathed in front of his wife's face after she has locked the door.

The woman's eyes widened in shock at the man's behavior and menacing facial expression that she did not notice that the smell of alcohol was very faint and there appears to be lucidity behind the man's eyes.

"I-I-I just thought that…"

"Quit stammering woman!" The man ran his fingers through his hair as he turned his back on her. "Not that I care for what you utter," He muttered in an undertone that cannot be missed by her. He loosened his tie while trudging towards the dining room. "Well, let's not waste your presence; summon a maid to prepare me a meal."

The brunette trailed behind the tall man. "I dismissed them for the night." She said weakly.

"You what! How am I to eat now?!" He turned abruptly and, with madness reflected on his face, motioned as though to strike the woman who showed signs of being terrified. The tyrant pulled back at the last second as though remembering himself. "Never do that again." He reiterated, tapping his wife's forehead with his finger at each word. He sneered at her. "Apparently, I would've made do with your lackluster culinary skills – if any, that is." He slightly slurred the insult out.

He was about to continue insulting his better half when he became aware of the dinner spread before him. He stopped and stood at the doorway.

The woman apprehensively bit her lip and kept her head down from behind the man. She was unsure of how he will react. For the past weeks, the man in front of her appears to have completely transformed into someone she did not know. Had she observed intently the emotions on her husband's exposed half of face, she would have registered a flicker of wretchedness and sorrow before reverting to his passive expression.

To her surprise and agitation, the man laughed, bursts of sound that sent a shiver down her spine. He grabbed her by the forearms and had her face-to-face.

"So, you think you can bribe me with food, eh?" He spat at her. "Well, missy, I don't think that's a good idea seeing that I was the one who paid for the resources used to prepare this." He gestured towards the spread. "What's the idea? What prank are you planning on pulling right now? What trickery are you conjuring now, woman? How low can you go?" He let a hand slide from the forearm to her chest and stomach.

Feeling his hand on her stomach made the woman pull away and find her voice. "You're not yourself tonight," She firmly said. "I need to tell you something; I'll do it tomorrow instead." She proceeded to lead him to his seat at the table. "For now, you should eat."

"Why are you doing this?" The man mumbled from his seat, gazing unseeingly at his empty plate. "I'm not paying you to do this – to take care of me." He said the last part inaudibly to himself.

His wife stared at him. Is not this what wives do for their husbands?

Without warning, the man stood up to his full height, illuminating his mask in the low light that cast shadows about the place.

"What's wrong?" The woman was ready to stand her ground. Too long she has let this man control their life. "Would you now explain anything to me or would you just let your rage overpower you?" She bit out.

"What is wrong, you ask." The husband bared his teeth. "You ARE the problem, my dear."

"Me?" She raised her eyebrow defiantly. "Care to expound, dear husband."

He ran his fingers through his mussed up black hair. "Ever since we came back here, you have proceeded to defy me at every turn."

"I have done no such thing!" She replied with indignation.

"There you go again!" He laughed sardonically, tearing his eyes away from her and the setup in the dining room. "Let's recap then," He moved to get something from their bar when his wife blocked his way. "Move away, woman. I need my drink!"

"No. Stop avoiding the issue and talk to me." She met his ferocious glare bravely. "Where have you been and what's wrong? What's happening?" She gestured between them. "What's happening to us?"

"Fine then!" He raised his arms in mock surrender. "So, inspector, shall I begin from the start or shall I tread along the path haphazardly?"

It was not dignified with an answer and he did not expect one.

He continued. "You see, dear wife," The endearment was used scornfully. "This week has been _hell_. Hell everywhere! From work up to this farce we call home." He headed towards the sitting room and continued to rant drunkenly. "What's taking me months, no, _years_, to build up you almost ruin in a day of gallivanting around the city!"

"What?" She questioned, confused.

"Reputation! Damn it! The company's reputation! My name! Our name!" He shook her, holding her by her shoulders and placing his face near hers. "Thanks to my idiotic father, the Destler name is deep in mud. _I_ am building it up from that level and you, dear wife, are dragging me down!" He pushed her away. "You were seen in a bar. Damn it! A bar! In a bar, flaunting your self for the entertainment of the public! Woman, do you think that would credit me in any way? _My_ wife exploiting herself in a public place!"

Her face colored in offense. "The way you tell it, you make it appear as though I'm a woman of the night!"

The enraged corporate mogul scoffed. "Dearest, in this society, it's as bad as that."

"First of all, it was not an ordinary bar – it's a -."

"I don't care what it's called, _dearest_."

"Second, I was not flaunting myself for public entertainment, as you eloquently put it. I was performing! I was merely singing!"

"Flaunting yourself, your talent, same thing!"

"But, music flows in my blood! How can you –!"

"Did I not instruct you to drop that issue? Did I not instruct you to quit performing _anywhere_? Did you not just quit from your role in the theater?"

"For your information, I did not quit from the theater – YOU quit me from - !"

"EXACTLY! That would mean you are banned from performing! You discredit me in that way."

"Is that all you think about? Your reputation? What about my dreams? Why did you marry me anyway?"

The man fell silent in front of her, staring stonily at her. "Did I even marry you?"

The woman, tired from their row, stooped in defeat. "I think this is enough for the night. You're tired and not yourself." She touched his arm lightly. "We should get to bed."

"That's what you are good for," He glared malevolently as he whispered the next word. "_Whore._"

The woman froze. "What did you say?" She carefully enunciated each word.

"Whore. That's what you are." Seeing the face of the woman coloring, he continued. "Or maybe not, prostitutes get paid don't they?"

The woman stood still, simmering in anger and frozen with shock.

The man bent down to get open his briefcase from the couch. "I think this should clarify things, dearest." He pulled out a folder and tossed it at the woman's feet.

She bent down and opened the file, sucking her breath as matters became clearer or foggier to her. "Th-this ca-can't be true. Lies!" She chucked the file back to the man.

"I'm afraid its true, my dear." He caught the file suavely and waved in the air. "We've both been victims. We've been conned. We've been in hell these past months. Maybe this is our salvation."

She continued to shake her head slowly as she wrapped her arms around her middle.

"Our marriage is null and void. It never took place." He said the words aloud as though to add credibility to it. "The presiding person was a fake. He did not have the right to do it. This whole thing, apparently, is a farce." He stepped closer to her. "You are not my wife. I am not your husband. Thank the heavens!" He laughed bitterly.

She raised her head one last time to look into the eyes of the man she thought that loved her. She only saw intense hatred on his face when he said the next words.

"We can now part ways without casting a shadow on our public image!"

Christine Daae, not Destler, bit her lip to keep her from crying in front of the man as she fled the room.

The man sank down the couch, took off his mask, and wiped the sweat off his face. Erik Destler wept.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

"What do you want, de Chagny?"

Philippe de Chagny burst into a smile from his station at the mahogany doors of the austere office of the CEO of Destler Incorporated.

"I never could catch you unaware, could I?" Philippe stepped forward towards his longtime friend, who currently has his back at Philippe.

Erik had his hands clasped at his back while gazing at the people hurrying about below the tall buildings. "You never announced yourself upon entrance. My secretary always announces herself as well as anybody else upon entering my office." He places his hands in his pockets, clenching his fists in it. "The only other person who does not need to gain entrance through my secretary would be _her_. Obviously, _she_ would not be returning anytime soon."

Philippe regained his serious countenance and chose to examine the files on Erik's desk. He picked up a thick black leather folder and thumbed through its contents. "It's that time of the year again, isn't?"

Erik grunted in response.

Of course it is, Philippe knew. That is why he is in Erik Destler's office at this date every year – to ensure that the man does not do anything drastic.

"So," Philippe continued to flip through the folder simply marked as _Christine_, skipping personal mementoes like the wedding picture and a couple of love letters. "Join me for lunch; I have something to show you." He paused at a CD pocket in the folder. "What's this, Destler?"

Erik did not answer.

Taking the CD case out of the pocket and turning it over, Philippe found out that it was a soft copy of all the documents in the folder. He nodded slightly; Erik has always been organized, bordering on obsessive-compulsive. There were a bunch of newspaper clippings, bank receipts, and photographs when he came to the last entry. It was the most recent file in the folder. It was the current issue of a tabloid.

Philippe scrunched his forehead, wondering why on earth Erik read such trash when he caught sight of one of the headlines at the sidebar.

"Disowned de Chagny and Disappearing Daae: Sighted with Son" it read.

Philippe immediately took the tabloid from its place in Erik's folder. He began to read the article as he was thirsty for any information regarding his brother and the woman he treated as a sister. Apparently, the couple was sighted at a local shopping center – at a maternity shop with a little boy in tow.

"Erik, what do you –?" Philippe started to say as he flipped through the paper to continue reading the article.

"I don't know, Philippe, I don't know." Erik murmured softly from his post, choosing to ignore the pain he felt at the moment.

His companion merely shook his head and focused on learning about his estranged brother. The paper reports, or speculates, that Raoul de Chagny, disowned son of the esteemed de Chagny family, and Christine Daae, daughter of the late Gustave Daae and adoptive daughter of the de Chagnys, have crossed paths. They appear to have a family now. One week ago, the couple was seen in a maternity shop buying a maternity dress along with a little boy, who has been heard calling Daae as his _mama_.

Philippe sped-read through the rest of the article as it was mere recounting of the scandals of the past years revolving on their family. He examined the grainy photo of the pair and the boy, who, unfortunately, had his back turned to the camera.

"Well," Philippe struggled to articulate himself. "So, that's that. At least, we know that they're well and in good health." He noted that Raoul's face, though it has matured since the last time they saw each other, glowed with happiness and contentment. Christine seemed happy too as well as less stressed out than the last time he saw her. Or maybe, he inferred, it was because she had her hair down. Christine was holding the boy's hand and Raoul had his hand on Christine's arm.

Philippe continued to make conversation with the man who, due to his lack of answers, apparently is currently a wall of ice. "They seem happy, don't they? It's also been awhile since I have seen Christine wear her hair down. The last time I did so must have been when she was still studying."

"Yes, I suppose so." Erik closed his eyes. As his wife, Christine was ordered by Erik to always keep her hair up, whether in a bun or another distinguished hairstyle. It was to denote elegance and superiority.

"Erik."

Erik opened his eyes, startled at hearing Philippe beside him. He was so deep in his thoughts that the man had crept near him without realizing it.

"Erik," The man who was his friend since his university days repeated. "I think this is a sign – you've been tracking her for the past years," He gestured towards the leather folder filled with details concerning the man's former spouse. "And have come up empty. This is the most substantial information you have of her since she deposited the money in your joint account."

Erik recalled that day, two years ago, when he received a call from one of his bankers. It was concerning the joint account he had with Christine; he never deactivated it in hopes of Christine withdrawing from it from somewhere and him being able to track her down. However, the news that the banker gave dispelled those hopes. Christine has deposited the exact amount of money she had taken from the account when she left hurriedly. Erik later on found out that Christine, at twenty-one years old, finally got hold of the inheritance left by her parents. It was clear that Erik was not been needed by Christine at all; he thought that he had at least one hold on Christine through his money. Even that notion was dashed.

"Quit dilly-dallying, de Chagny," Erik barked out, masking different emotions with his temper. "Spit out what you want to tell me."

Knowing the eccentric masked man for years, Philippe was not fazed. "What I'm trying to say is this – let go of Christine Daae, Erik. She has her life; you have yours. She has moved on; you must do so too. She seems to be quite settled; you must settle yourself too. Move on from this phase of your life. You have wasted years."

_I know, Philippe. I know._

---

"Oh my gosh, Raoul! Thank you!" The woman rose from her seat and embraced her husband as well as gently kissing his cheek.

Raoul de Chagny smiled softly at his wife, whom he held in his arms. "Anything for you, dear."

Christine Daae smiled at the couple in front of her. "How about a photo of the de Chagny's?" She held up a camera. "A photo on Mama Meg's third baby shower?"

"Aw, Christine!" Meg de Chagny was feeling emotional that day. The hormones must be active. "I don't know what I'd do without you," She picked up Raoul's gift, which was a fairly fashionable maternity dress. "I'll bet Raoul had help in choosing this, didn't he?" She ignored Raoul's mock hurt look. "He never could choose the right color."

Christine laughed. "Yes, I know. Even when we were kids, I actually asked him if he were color-blind."

"Hey!" Raoul reacted good-naturedly.

Christine patted Raoul's arm. "To be fair to him though, he was the one who chose the style of the dress."

"Mama! Mama!"

Three children came in the room, hurrying to their respective parents.

"Hello, squirt!" Raoul raised his youngest daughter in the air, who giggled in response. At the age of three years old, Gabrielle de Chagny had strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes and a sweet smile.

His other daughter, Marcella, who looked like a younger version of her mother with long blonde hair and plump cheeks, hugged Meg.

"Mama!"

Christine turned to her own bundle of joy, who is also a bundle of boundless energy.

"Hello, sweetheart," She smiled as she bent down to receive her son's hug. "How are the cookies?" With the aid of Grandmamma Marie Giry, the three children had baked cookies for the occasion. They had just returned from checking on the cookies and taking them out of the oven. "I hope you didn't give Grandmamma Marie a hard time."

"No dear," With perfect posture, Marie Giry came in the room carrying an aluminum tray of colorful cookies. "They were complete angels. Here you go, dears." She placed the tray on the coffee table that Meg cleared off.

Christine made herself comfortable in the sofa in the de Chagny's living room, feeling contented with the little family.

The actual baby shower was over a couple of minutes ago when Meg's colleagues, who were also Christine's, came over with gifts and the like. All of the guests have already left, leaving the immediate family to have their own celebration.

Currently, Gabrielle was adding sprinkles on her cookies, thus covering the coffee table with the colorful confection and making Marie shake her head. The couple was seated on the couch, with Raoul's arm over Meg's shoulder and Meg nestled in Raoul's embrace. Marcella was seated on her father's lap, indignantly arguing with him that the design on her cookies is a bunny rabbit and not a scared cat.

"Have a cookie, Mama." A black haired four-year-old boy sat beside Christine, offering his own creation on a napkin. "It's an angel, Mama, 'cause I know you like angels." He beamed happily as he opened his mother's palm and placed the cookie on it.

"Thank you, Angelo." She smiled sincerely at her son. Angelo smiled once more and went to get his own cookie.

Christine sighed as she delicately traced the design of Angelo's cookie. Angelo has always been a sweet and sensitive boy. She carefully nibbled on the cookie while observing the other occupants of the room.

Raoul was obviously having a good time riling up his daughter but Meg had finally enough and was poking Raoul's side to quit teasing the child. Gabrielle, meanwhile, was offering her multi-colored cookie to her grandmother who graciously took it while taking good care not to spill sprinkles on the floor. Angelo, Christine noticed, was looking at Raoul, Meg and Marcella with a curious expression. She did not know what to expect, but she knew it could not bode too well. The dark haired child tore his gaze from the family and took a cookie and sat beside his mother. He ate his cookie quietly, as though lost in thought.

His mother took in his expression and sighed in nostalgia. The child looked like his father when he thinks; eyebrows are furrowed just a bit and the eyes are a bit unfocused on the real world or absent-mindedly staring at a certain object. In this case, the de Chagny family.

Christine resumed eating her cookie in silence.

---

"You said there was something you wished for me to see?"

"Oh, right." Philippe de Chagny placed his hand in his blazer pocket to fish out his wallet.

At the moment, Philippe and Erik are at a restaurant near Destler Incorporated. They are regular customers in the establishment, thus securing themselves an alcove in the said place.

While eating, the former dorm mates and now business partners conversed about random things from the racist comments of a politician to the absurd behavior of an actress to the way Erik's hair is always in place. They talked about anything except the topic that they dropped in the Destler building.

Towards the end of their coffee, Erik recalled the reason why Philippe brought him there.

Philippe opened his wallet and carefully extracted a photograph of a child in a pink tutu.

"Here," He handed the photo to Erik. "It's Richelle on her first ballet recital; Yves and I are really proud of her." Paternal pride shining on Philippe's face. "At the age of six, she is one of the youngest students in her class. And, according to her teachers, she's one of the few who is dedicated. She could go far and Yves and I shall support her all the way."

Erik gazed at the photograph with something akin to regret, thinking of another photograph, another child and another woman.

_That child that _she _has with Raoul could have been mine if only… The child _she _is carrying could have been mine if only…_

He passed the photo back to his companion, murmuring a congratulatory word to him.

_I could have been the one taking out my wallet and sharing my child's baby photographs if only…_

_If only, if only…_

"So," Philippe interrupted Erik's depressing train of thought. "Shall we go to our separate buildings?"

_She's moved on… You have wasted years… It has to stop._

An idea came to Erik's mind. "Actually, can you accompany me to mine? I have this new venture that I want your opinion on."

Philippe grinned. "Of course." It appears to him that Erik was beginning his healing process or has healed. Not one word was said on the topic of Christine on the anniversary of the day that she vanished from the Destler household.

They both stood up after Philippe left their tip and payment and exited the establishment.

As the millionaire masked man stepped out of the elegant restaurant, he felt his spirits rise a bit.

This is a new beginning for him.

---

When Christine went up to her son's room that night with a glass of milk to tuck him in, she has almost forgotten about the pensive expression that child had earlier that day.

Angelo obediently drank the milk up and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and change into pajamas.

While he did so, Christine went about the room to tidy up what little mess he had. At the age of four, Angelo was quite independent when it comes to personal hygiene and keeping his room neat. It must be a Destler thing, Christine supposed, recalling, with faint heartache, her former husband's meticulous habits.

Her son came back from the bathroom, wearing a pair of pajamas with printed moon and stars. He climbed up the bed with practiced ease. However, as opposed to his usual ritual, he sat up straight on bed instead of lying down immediately.

Christine felt worry creeping unto her veins. "Is something wrong, sweetheart? Are you not feeling well?" She felt his forehead, which did not feel too warm.

"I'm fine, Mama." Angelo quietly replied, eyes staring intently at his mother's. "I have a question for you."

The scene of Angelo staring at the de Chagnys quickly entered Christine's mind's eye.

She took a deep breath, having an idea on what the question is about. "Yes, sweetheart, what is it?"

"Mama, Marcella said that she's having a new baby sister." Angelo began hesitantly.

Christine sat beside Angelo on the bed and nodded encouragingly for him to continue.

"I told her I want one too." Angelo looked at his little hands sadly, not seeing Christine freeze at his words. "She said that I can't have one. I asked why. She said angels only give babies to children with a mama and a papa so the angel will know that the family is good." Angelo brought his teary eyes to Christine's anguished ones. "Am I a bad boy, Mama? Is that why my Papa left?"


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"Philippe, how is the business going?" An elderly man inquired with a glint in his eye. "I trust that everything is running smoothly?"

The man in question smiled as he put down his drink on the table so as to address the query. "Yes, Father. The new campaign is doing well and investors are streaming in. Our market share has also become larger as opposed to the same period last year. I saw the figures yesterday," He spouted a couple of statistics. "That would mean that competition is 25 lagging. So, to sum it up, yes, I do believe that everything is running smoothly."

Maurice de Chagny's showed a look of pride. "Very good, my son, it is good to know that I have made the right decision in leaving the company in your very capable hands." The de Chagny patriarch swirled the ice in his glass before taking a sip. "It also appears that it is doing much better than it did in _my_ heyday." His lips twitched as an indication of a smile. "You have indeed done well."

Maurice cleared his throat in the commanding manner that only the head of the family could. Even when Raoul was already in the university and Philippe the CEO of the family business, Maurice de Chagny posed such an imposing figure that they felt like little boys being measured up in his presence. Nevertheless, he developed quite a good relationship with his family. Now that a lot of things have happened throughout the years, Philippe could not help but recall the moments that he, his brother and father shared in this very room. Maurice's study served as his library, work area at home and a setting for family bonding. Philippe snapped out of his recollections when his father started to speak.

Maurice's face has softened. "So, business aside, how are the things in the home front?"

His eldest son eagerly brought out his family's pictures and relayed his news in a more expressive way than he did to Erik.

"That's absolutely wonderful, my boy." Maurice flipped through the pictures, remembering his granddaughter and daughter-in-law who were currently shopping with his wife. "Children are a great source of comfort and happiness." A reminiscing smile graced his otherwise stern features. "Why, I remember how much mayhem you and -."

Philippe's father fell short of speaking the name of his dishonored son. Philippe could see past his father's façade, while he disowned the young man, he still is Raoul's father and he feels the gap left by Raoul.

Without a word, Maurice stood up from his seat and walked over to turn on a spotlight for one of the dark recesses of the room.

Philippe started as he followed his father. "Father, I-," The words run dry in his mouth as he saw the de Chagny family portrait. It was once proudly hung up in the receiving room of his childhood home. After the scandal of Raoul running away, apparently eloping, the portrait disappeared from view. Philippe has wondered since then where it had gone; now he knew that it took residence in his father's study.

"I have forgiven him long ago, Philippe." Maurice murmured softly. "It's been years, hasn't it?" He gazed at the portrait of his once-complete and once-happy family. "Back then," He indicated the portrait. "I would not have imagined that this would occur. While I do not claim to have thoroughly understood what he did, I can say that I have gained insight on what his view may be. I should not have acted so rashly back then."

The portrait hung there, a memento of a memory frozen in time. Maurice was standing behind his wife, who was sitting on a gilded chair. He had his hand on his wife's shoulder and his wife touching his hand gently. Raoul and Philippe were standing at either side of him, at the left and the right sides respectively. Philippe, being the elder of the two, already looked like a man facing corporate responsibilities as denoted by his countenance and attire. Raoul, on the other, was a university student with boyish features that complement his blonde hair and youthful glow. He was smiling brightly with laughter twinkling in his eyes. Lastly is their adoptive sister, Christine Daae. Christine was a couple of years Philippe's junior. She sat at Madame de Chagny's left in that demure way that was uncommon of women her age in this era. Her chocolate curls flowed freely on her straight shoulders, a sign of vibrancy that was coupled with her sweet smile and twinkling eyes not unlike that of Raoul's. They all appeared to be content and happy; a perfect example of a perfect family and it was perfect, too.

Maurice's reminiscing was cut by Philippe releasing a sigh.

"I also did not expect Christine to end up the way she did."

Maurice shook his head in agreement and sorrow at the plight of the young woman he treated as a daughter. "Neither did I. We all thought that her marriage would do her good. Somehow, I feel that this is my fault. That time that her engagement was announced, I feel that I have used her for good publicity. Had I known that Destler would -."

"Father, do not go on a guilt trip." Philippe interrupted firmly. "It was Christine's own decision; it's not your fault. Besides, no one could have predicted the outcome. And, _Erik_, I assure you, did not mean for all of this to happen, either." He emphasized his use of Erik's first name, which, along with Raoul de Chagny, has once become a taboo word in Maurice's household. "I suppose they just got married at the wrong time; they should have taken things slowly."

"I have forgiven him, too, Philippe. I thought you knew that."

"But have you forgiven him fully, like Raoul?"

"Not yet." Maurice moved to face his eldest son. "I would do so when I have seen Christine in person that she is truly happy now." He turned off the spotlight thus enveloping the portrait in darkness.

Further conversation was halted when the door of the study opened and in went Frances de Chagny, swiftly yet gracefully.

After the customary greetings, Frances quickly delved into the current topic of her disquietude as she took a seat at her husband's desk.

"While I would love to impart what the girls and I have done all afternoon, I would like to share to you what I have inadvertently seen in the newsstands." Frances stated, manicured fingers tapping anxiously on the desk.

Neither parent noticed the sudden stiffness of Philippe's posture.

"Oh, do tell us dear." Maurice replied indulgently, expecting the news to be either gossip or about fashion.

"A tabloid ran an article and a photo on Christine and Raoul having a family together."

Maurice's expression was unreadable as he answered. "Go on, dear. What does it say?"

Frances ceased tapping as a smile spread on her face. "Apparently, as insinuated by the paper, Christine is expecting and that she and Raoul have their own little boy. They seem to be quite happy, too."

Comprehension dawned on Maurice's features. "We have another grandchild? Or, shall I say, more grandchildren? That is quite…" He sought an appropriate word. "Unexpected."

"However, this so-called news just brought up more questions than answers as to what has happened to them."

Philippe could only nod.

"I agree."

---

Tearing up, Christine took her precious son into her embrace.

"Sweet Angelo, you have been a perfect son to me – and you still are." She hugged her child tightly. "You are not bad." She paused to gather her thoughts and control her emotions.

_You are not bad. You are not heartless – I know you do not want this. Please, speak to me._

Her previous statement seems reminiscent of a past discussion she had with the child's father.

Christine looked straight into Angelo's eyes. "Sweetheart, do not ever think that you are the reason why your father is not around because you are not. You are my angel," She gently wiped the tears streaming on her son's cheeks. "Without you, I do not know what would have happened to me."

Angelo hiccupped. "Bu-but what abou-bou-bout P-p-papa?"

Christine blinked her eyes as she held Angelo closer to her. "I promise you, sweetheart that you shall know when the time is right – when you are ready and I am ready."

Being the sensitive soul he is, Angelo acquiesced without complain and hugged his mother back.

"I love you so much, Mama."

"I love you too, Angelo." Christine murmured against Angelo's baby soft hair. She shut her eyes. She did not know when she will be ready to open up to her young son about the monster his father has become.

---

Two days following his luncheon with Philippe, Erik set to work on his new venture. While the de Chagny CEO did not seem to fully grasp Erik's reasons, the plan was met with an affirmative.

Currently, Erik is putting his plan into motion.

"Cassandra?"

"Yes, Mr. Destler?" Erik's secretary responded on his phone.

"Call Mr. Ayers and tell him to send me immediately the most recent figures of the company."

"Right away, sir. Is there anything else?"

"Yes," Erik replied. "Send me the contact number of the head of Education in this area. I would need to schedule a meeting with him. That would be all, Cassandra."

"Yes, sir."

Erik dropped the line and focused his attention on the black leather folder on his desk. He took the first file and the last one. The former is wedding photo, seemingly mocking him on what could have been. The latter is the tabloid picture, mocking him on how he truly does not deserve happiness. He sighs as he traces the contours of the woman's smiling face.

He owes so much to this girl, nay, woman. He owes her the brief time of happiness he had felt. It was as though heaven was smiling at him back then. He now owes Christine her own happiness.

Placing the all of the files in the leather folder, he motioned to throw it in the waste bin. He paused at the last moment and headed to his vault, where he vowed never to open it again.

_Yes, Christine. I am now finally granting you freedom from me as well as granting myself freedom from you._

----

"Miss Christine! Miss Christine!" A young girl of ten came out of the classroom upon seeing her favorite teacher walking in the corridor carrying a rather tall pile of worksheet. "I'll help you!"

Christine stopped as Pauline took some of the worksheet to ease her load. "Thank you, Pauline. I appreciate that."

Pauline grinned as she shrugged, her brown braids swaying slightly. "You're welcome, Miss Christine."

"Are you sure you don't have classes at the moment?" Christine conversed with her student as they walked on towards the faculty room.

"No – it's our year level's break time. I don't mind – I've eaten my food anyways and all of the homework are done and all."

"That's good," Christine nodded to acknowledge a colleague they passed by. "Pauline, do you intend to audition for the upcoming chorale presentation? We need several students from elementary, you know." She asked, referring to the annual talent night their school holds.

Pauline shifted the worksheets on her arms before replying. "I don't know, Miss Christine. I don't think I can do it – I'm not yet ready to join the inter-department chorale presentation."

"Why not? I believe you have potential." Christine opened the door of the faculty room, having reached their destination.

"Really?" Pauline's face lighted up with hope. "Do you think I can do it?"

Christine placed her load on her desk and smiled at her youngest promising student. "Of course, you just have to believe in yourself."

Pauline had a pensive expression on her face as Christine took the worksheets and thanked her. She absentmindedly said goodbye and left.

Christine shook her head as she made her way to her desk. That was the problem with most of her young students – they lack self-esteem or belief in their own talents.

She has just sat down on her seat when Meg came from her own cubicle, carrying their lunch. Ever since they started teaching in this rural school, they have developed a ritual of alternately bringing lunch for the two of them.

"So, Missy Chrissy," Meg pulled a chair towards Christine's desk while Christine set up their lunch. "How is your day so far?"

"Fine, Meg, quite fine." Christine replied as she took out placemats and utensils from Meg's bag. "The children are still sweet as ever, but they really needed to be assured of their abilities. The high school students, meanwhile," She opened the plastic containers of food on her desk. "Are now giving more thought about their futures. Obviously, they are not far from deciding whether to go to college or just stay here and aid in their family's livelihood."

"Oh, it's The Decision, then?" Meg quipped as she poured the dressing on the salad. "Well, so did you give them you wise pieces of advice?"

Christine sighed as she began to serve herself beef stroganoff. "Like I'm in the position to do so."

"What do you mean by that?" Meg reached over to get a table napkin. "Of course you are in the position!"

Her friend rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not. I can't tell them to go to college and follow their dreams and everything will pan out fine in the end. I'm living proof of that." Christine put up her hand to stop Meg from reacting. "I did that but I did not end up performing as I had dreamed of. Where am I now? Surely this is not an enviable situation for these kids."

"Pray tell, where exactly are you now?" Meg countered.

"I am estranged from my monstrous husband, excuse me, _ex_-husband, with my son whom I love very much but whom my ex-husband knows nothing about. _He _has driven me away from any possible career I would have had and left me with a Bachelor in Music without anywhere to go except to teach." Christine's face dawned with comprehension. "And now, here I am, teaching to the youth – affecting more people in more ways than I could have ever dreamed. Rather, I have affected more people than I could have had I focused on performing..."

"And everything panned out fine in the end." Meg smiled softly at Christine.

--

A/N

Hello! I would just like to greet my reviewers for the past two chapters – I really appreciate you taking the time to review what I wrote. Thank you. I dedicate this chapter to all of you.

LittleLottexoxEriksTrueAngel --- the Mouse in the Opera House --- Me --- Virginie --- Ina --- IceCrystalline --- opera donut --- MJ MOD --- Timeflies --- GerrysJackie

When my internet connection becomes a little bit better, I shall see if I could reply to you using the private messaging service of What do you think of my summary? Is there anyway I could improve it? Please leave suggestions. Thanks!

P.P.S. Up next: Erik-De Chagnys interaction as well as more on Christine and Angelo.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Cutter." Erik reached over to shake the hands of the Head of Education.

"No, it's thank _you_, Mr. Destler, for instigating and funding this endeavor." Robert Cutter countered. "When I first heard that you wished to arrange a meeting with me, I had no idea why, seeing that the education sector is far from your line of business."

"Well, you know business moguls, if I may use the term, always finding ways to serve there fellowmen better in ways more than one." Erik replied cryptically.

As the two men bid each other goodbye and Mr. Cutter left the building, Erik relaxed in his seat while swiveling it to face the skyline, contented at having finalized the details of his latest venture.

"Excuse me, Mr. Destler," Cassandra announced as she entered the office. "Mr. de Chagny is on line one; he claims to have an important matter at hand."

"Thank you, Cassandra." Erik waved off his secretary as he positioned himself for the phone call.

"De Chagny? Destler here," Erik spoke on his speakerphone.

"Erik, good friend, I have important news to impart." Erik could detect the excited tone of Philippe's voice.

"All right, and here I was, thinking you simply missed me," The masked man replied sardonically. "It's been, what, _six _days since we last saw each other for lunch."

"My, my," Philippe continued. "Aren't you in a good mood; I take it that your odd venture into the musical arts had gone well with the Head of Education?"

"Yes, Philippe, now," Erik absentmindedly twirled a pen from his desk. "What was it you were going to inform me? We're wasting minutes of productivity, you know."

"Erik, do have something to do at seven this evening?" Philippe questioned, hinting at what was come.

Erik glanced through his schedule to make sure, though he had his activities memorized. "No, I don't believe I do, other than having dinner alone, that is."

"Well, here it is, Erik," Philippe paused a bit for suspense. "Father and Mother would like to have you for dinner."

Philippe de Chagny was met with silence from the other line.

"Erik? Erik Destler? Are you still there?" The eldest de Chagny began to worry. "You will come, won't you? Yves and my own family would be there, too."

"It's just… It's been a long time," The head of Destler, Incorporated uncharacteristically replied quietly. "Have they – have they forgiven me?"

"I believe they have, otherwise, they would not have invited you over." Philippe responded just as quietly. "I think the better question is – have you forgiven yourself."

---

Christine closed the door gently as she led her son to her desk and helped him to settle down. As Christine proceeded to reach into her bag for sandwiches and a bottle of juice, Angelo opened his lunch bag and meticulously laid his place mat on the desk. It was another habit that, Christine supposed, was probably ingrained in the Destler genes.

"Here's a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, cheese sandwich and a chicken sandwich." Christine placed each sandwich on Angelo's place mat. "I'm not so sure what you're in the mood for today, so I prepared several." She smiled softly at her black haired son. "And here's your orange juice – freshly squeezed from the oranges we bought yesterday."

Angelo smiled back. "Thanks, Mama."

His mother ruffled his hair lightly before preparing for the faculty meeting.

It was a typical Friday afternoon with the faculty meeting convening after classes.

As it was custom, Christine picked Angelo up from his kindergarten school after her last period of classes and brought him to the faculty room, where the said meeting was to occur.

"Today's agenda is to discuss the annual talent night and assignments regarding it." Miss Bianca Romualdez, the headmistress, enunciated once every teacher has settled on his or her seat. She glanced through her papers. "Let's begin with the junior ballet dancers under Mrs. de Chagny…"

The meeting went on smoothly with Angelo eating and reading somewhere in the background. Then, finally, towards the end of the meeting, came discussion on the faculty talent representative.

"Last year, it was a rendition of a medley of Tchaikovsky's works courtesy of the dance teachers spearheaded by Mrs. de Chagny and Miss Hansen." Miss Romualdez recalled as she consulted the files in front of her. "However, compared to last year, we have a shorter time to prepare this year, Miss Hansen has left and Mrs. de Chagny is currently not disposed to dance."

Eyeing Christine in her peripheral view, Meg motioned to speak.

"Yes, Mrs. de Chagny," The kindly and yet strict headmistress had acknowledged. "What is it?"

"I would like to suggest a solo act," Meg could see her best friend look sharply at her. "Don't you think that would be much easier to prepare?"

Miss Romualdez rubbed her nose bridge reflectively. "I would say yes, but who do you would you suggest to perform?"  
Meg smiled with her eyes twinkling of mischief, all the while ignoring Christine who was slightly shaking her head at her. "I would like to suggest Miss Christine Daae."

The otherwise stern headmistress gave a smile. "Yes, of course," Bianca focused her attention on the young mother. "Miss Daae, you performed in the Christmas party last year, did you not?"

Christine shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Yes, I did, but the crowd then was small – just the faculty members and now..."

"Oh rubbish, Christine," Meg reacted, moving forward in her seat. "You know you are capable of performing in front of a large crowd like you did in university."

Other teachers murmured their acquiescence and compliments to Christine's talent but Christine would hear none of it.

"It's not really that," Christine bit her lip. "I can't do it alone – I -."

"I'll join you, Mama."

Every eye in the room was fixated on the owner of the quiet and gentle voice.

Angelo repeated his statement. "I'll join you, Mama, on stage."

Miss Romualdez smiled as Christine gazed perplexedly at her son. "So, I believe it is settled then?"

---

Erik nervously shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he stood at the large elegant door of the de Chagny manor.

He had accepted the invitation of the elder de Chagny and had worried about the dinner throughout the day. His secretary has even commented on his odd behavior for that day.

He sighed.

He really was not himself tonight.

It simply would not be well for him to appear shifty under the eyes of the de Chagny patriarch, now would it? This was the man who raised stubborn yet staunch Philippe, bright-eyed charming Raoul and…

Maurice de Chagny was also the man who consented to have his adoptive daughter marry the monster that he, Erik Destler, was.

Erik groaned in his guilt and frustration. It would appear that all his debonair and confident manners took leave of him tonight.

He finally raised his hand to use the bronze knocker and waited for the help to let him in.

To his surprise, it was Yves, Philippe's wife, who opened it.

"Erik," The blonde woman greeted him. "Good evening." She moved aside to let him in while Erik mumbled his greetings. "I'm afraid the help is currently being needed in the kitchen and the butler is nowhere to be found at the moment. You know Mother – very demanding when it comes to cuisine art."

Erik tilted his head slightly in embarrassed acknowledgment and gestured to the wine bottle he was carrying. "Where shall I put this?"

"Oh, let me," Yves, being the charming hostess that she was, offered. "I'll take this to the kitchen, then. Thank you, Erik. The others are in the sitting room, waiting for dinner to be announced." She directed Erik to the said venue. "I shall be joining you as soon as I take care of this."

And with that, she left Erik standing in the middle of marble floored receiving area.

Erik slightly loosened his tie and breathed deeply before walking towards the sitting room.

Conversation stilled when Erik entered.

Philippe stood up at once. "Erik!" He patted Erik's back in greeting. "So glad that you could make it, Father and I were just discussing the likelihood of our stocks continuing to soar. Now that you're here," He motioned for Erik to sit at a nearby leather chair while he got comfortable once more in his own seat. "I suppose we can progress to less tedious topics."

Erik remained in the doorway and he could feel the eyes of the elder de Chagny couple bore unto him

_Good heavens, speak, Erik. Something intelligent, something impressive, something -._

"Good evening, sir and madam."

_Something not like that, you dolt._

"Good evening – Erik." Maurice held his gaze on the man who had once asked his daughter's hand in marriage. "Please take a seat." He gave a slight smile. Closure, yes, that is why he is doing this. For closure.

Erik gingerly took a seat in front of Maurice and Frances.

"I say," Philippe remarked. "What could be taking Yves so long?"

"Missing me already?"

Yves let out a demure laugh from the doorway before settling herself beside her husband. "I just went to the kitchen for them to keep the wine Erik brought cool." She continued as though unaware of the tension in the room.

"You brought wine, Destler?" Maurice raised an eyebrow.

Erik nodded.

"Thank you, lad," The de Chagny patriarch tipped his head vaguely.

"Yves, you let Erik in?" Frances spoke for the first time that evening. When her daughter-in-law replied her affirmation, she continued. "Where is Jeffrey, then? Where has our butler gone to?"

Philippe shrugged but Maurice had a contemplative look on his face.

"He said something about a need to confess some deed he has committed in the past." Maurice rubbed his chin reflectively as he faced his wife. "He wishes to seek an audience with us once Erik has arrived. I suppose he would be preparing his piece before meeting us."

"I take it you granted his request?" Frances asked of her husband.

"Yes, he had me curious." He faced each person in the room. "Does any of you have an idea on what loyal old Jeffrey is about to profess?"

His gaze landed on Erik's masked face.

"No sir, not even the foggiest idea." He managed to reply under scrutiny.

"Good evening sirs and madams."

Jeffrey the butler has long been in subservience in the de Chagny household – since Philippe was wearing diapers, to be exact. He saw and knew everything that occurred under the roof of the house of an opulent and loving family. He knew of Maurice's idiosyncrasies, Frances' little hobbies, Philippe's and Raoul's boyish games and even young Christine's wishes.

Yes, he saw all.

Yet, he told no one as he knew these people respected him and so he shall also respect them.

"Jeffrey, well then, spit it out, man. You've had me on pins and needles since you took me aside earlier this evening." Maurice good-naturedly encouraged their devoted butler.

Jeffrey began to speak.

He spoke with an eloquence that would have pleased grammar teachers everywhere. He spoke of his years in the household. In all his years of serving Maurice de Chagny, Jeffrey never questioned the man's decisions and followed his orders thoroughly – until approximately four years ago. He finally defied the business tycoon and took matters into his own hands. He paused as he let his words sink in.

"Four years ago, a tragedy has befallen this household." Jeffrey softly yet clearly uttered. "There was a day when the patriarch of this household has denounced everything in connection with his youngest son." He paused, seeing his boss fidgeting who still bid him to continue. "He wished that no communication be created between this noble family and his disgraced son. He ordered for phone numbers to be changed and letters to be burned. Letters did arrive. But, alas," Jeffrey lowered his eyes. "I never did burn the letters – I replied to Sir Raoul and Miss Christine."

Erik's ears perked up.

"My children have been trying to contact us?" Maurice choked out, filled with emotion.

"Yes, sir, up to today, Sir Raoul has continued to send letters addressed to you and Madam Frances. I never opened any of his letters."

"What I don't understand is, Christine – why haven't you given us her letters?" Frances inquired, tears surfacing at her eyes.

"Madam, she wrote only one letter." Jeffrey took out a bundle of envelopes from his jacket. "She had an envelope attached to one of Sir Raoul's letters a few years back. She sent a note that she wishes for her letter to be read after Raoul's. She insisted that no way should I divulge the existence of her letter until Raoul's has been read."

---

"Now, young man," Christine interrogated her son as she, Angelo and Meg walked to Christine's car in the school parking lot. "What on earth possessed you to volunteer in such a way?"

"Mama, I know you love to sing." Angelo murmured, kicking pebbles as they went along. Speaking out a while ago seemed such a good idea. Now, however, it seems as though he has placed his mother on the spot. "I know you sing really well, too. I want to show others that I'm proud of you, Mama."

Christine stopped in her tracks.

Meg cleared her throat as she took the car keys from Christine's hand. "Alright, then, I'll go ahead and get the car running, eh?" Without waiting for a reply, she left mother and child.

"You sweet, sweet boy…" Christine knelt at Angelo's level and hugged him. If only his father had the same opinion on Christine's talent…

"Ok," Christine straightened up and held the four-year-old's hand. "Apparently, we find ourselves a little problem."

"What, Mama?" Angelo had his face upturned at his mother.

"What shall we perform together?" His brown-haired mother touched the tip of his nose playfully. "Let's get home now so we can choose, shall we?"

"Of course, Mama," Angelo let out a bright smile. His mother was not disappointed at him after all.

---

Erik sat quietly in the leather chair as he held in his hand Christine's photograph, courtesy of Raoul de Chagny. He uncharacteristically sighed as he slowly traced the contours of Christine's smiling face. It would appear that she is happy now, he mused. He never could recall a time when she had smiled that way. Or, at least, he could not recall during the latter part of their marriage.

_Our marriage… _Such a thought never failed to keep his iron heart in a vice. How had everything spiraled out of his control so quickly?

He studied the picture. While Christine, granted, had matured gracefully, her beauty was still prominent though there was something about her that Erik could not quite put a finger on…

Erik eventually focused his attention on the other occupants of the room, the two de Chagny couples, bringing to his mind the occurrences about an hour ago.

Somewhat regaining her composure, Frances had insisted that they eat dinner before delving into the envelopes of memories that Jeffrey has kept for them. Jeffrey, whose service they shall continue to avail of, had bowed and gotten out of the room. The de Chagny matriarch held that she would not have the meal, which their help has prepared so hard for, to go to waste. Their appetites would surely vanish, she remarked, if they were to read the letters beforehand. Too late, Erik had thought then. He no longer had an appetite.

Dinner was a brisk affair with compliments to the cook and murmured conversations. They seemed to have a silent agreement to get dinner over with quickly so as to return to the letters.

The de Chagny patriarch and matriarch had proceeded to read the letters in silence and would pass on to Philippe suitable letters to read aloud to the group. Otherwise, Frances or Maurice informed them key information they have garnered from Raoul's chronicles.

Several of the latter letters had photographs in them, which they proceeded to pass around in their little group. Raoul had helpfully written captions at the back of each photo.

Erik recalled the first letter from Raoul that mentioned Christine, which was dated a couple of months after Christine left.

"'Dear Father and Mother,'" the letter began, as read by Philippe. "'I know it has been awhile since last wrote. I know you may not necessarily want to hear from me after what I have done. But, please, hear me out. If not for my sake, then please do so for Christine's sake. She is with me now. I'm not exactly sure how to break to you our current situation, as I'm pretty sure you would probably have thrown this letter into the garbage bin once you've seen my handwriting. Thankfully, Jeffrey has told me of his orders.

Father, please to do not send him away for his disregard of your orders; he has proven himself thus far of this loyalty to the de Chagny family.

So, I've decided to simply reveal what has become of Christine and I as I go along sending letters to the two of you. I would only say this on behalf of myself and my business. I would leave Christine to explain her self to you as it is, after all, her life and her decision. I shall respect that by being discrete…'"

Then they had read aloud Christine's letter:

"Dear Father and Mother and –quite possibly, if you are there- Philippe and Yves, (At this point of the letter, Erik swallowed hard at his obvious exclusion, which was quite reasonable.)

I promised myself that I would not send any message to you all back home until I have finally settled myself somewhere. This is a promise I did not break. Hence, it is only months after my departure that here I am writing to you.

I would like to sincerely ask for forgiveness to you Father and Mother for leaving so abruptly and without word. You don't deserve that, I know. You did not deserve the worries that accompanied my leaving for you have been truly kind to me from the moment I stepped inside your home all those years back when my father passed on. I would also like to take this opportunity to thank you graciously for accepting me into your family.

The past months have been nothing short of hell to me (Erik winced at this) as you may or may not have known. I'm sorry to leave you with such a mess… I know I haven't given hint that I would leave. Nevertheless, I should think that Destler (He who was called Destler by his own wife flinched again) would have gone to you with the necessary explanations and papers. If not, I'm pretty sure that he would have had such an event televised so as to clear his name. I wish though that he would have had the decency to inform you beforehand (Philippe raised his eyebrow at this, recalling that Erik had indeed informed the de Chagnys of Christine's departure and their situation by though a fax and a phone call before he had gone to court to finalize matters). By now, I would hope that you know the truth and all and hopefully, Father and Mother, you would understand that I cannot come back with Destler since being around.

Don't worry, though. I'm pretty much happy from where I am now. I'm currently with Raoul and I assure you that while we may not be living in the opulence that we grew up in, we are living quite comfortably. I'll be starting on my new job next Monday, though (About Raoul, I think he would open up about things when he is ready; it is not my place to volunteer information).

If you would wish for me to be persona non grata, I would not mind. However, I would ask several things of you:

I know all of you has a good relationship with Destler before all of this occurred, please don't let something as trivial as my false marriage (here, Maurice had nearly scoffed at Christine's choice of words; her marriage was anything by trivial) ruin it. Philippe, he truly appreciates your friendship; no matter how coarse he may respond to you (Philippe attempted to stop a snigger from escaping and was elbowed by his wife for failing to do so while Erik merely wiped his forehead). Lastly, please don't attempt to seek me and please don't let Destler come near me. Please understand that I have my reasons, which I cannot reveal to you at the time being. I'm sorry…

I'm not entirely sure if I were to write another letter of this kind again; I would most likely appear as footnotes in Raoul's letters instead.

Mother and Father, know that I love you and I never meant for this to happen – don't take any of the things that has occurred to me as your shortcoming. All that matter is that I am safe and happy now. I hope you will be happy too.

Your loving daughter,

Christine".

Silence had followed after this long letter.

"Well…" Maurice began, after some time, locking his eyes on Erik. "Apparently, I'm doing the right thing now."

And with that and an exchange composed of few words, Erik was officially welcomed once more into the de Chagny fold.

Following that was the vanishing of the tension that hung in the air and the continuation of reading several other letters from Raoul. Christine was mentioned sparingly in the next letters; only writing once in a while in a birthday greeting or so to the de Chagnys. Nothing more was said concerning her marriage with Erik.

And here is when Erik was examining Christine's photograph.

It was taken during a trip to the studio when Raoul had decided to had some family pictures taken.

As the other de Chagnys with him passed around the other pictures and continued reading letters, little by little they were able to piece things out…

Raoul de Chagny has actually tied the knot with ballerina Meg Giry, the woman who he declared he was to be engaged to, which caused him to be disowned in the first place.

Erik flipped through the pictures as he searched for the de Chagny-Giry family studio picture.

To date, Raoul has two daughters, and apparently, another one on the way (as it was mentioned in the latest letter).

Another picture showcased Raoul, Meg, their children with Meg's mother Marie Giry.

What they all found interesting, though, was that, despite the fact that Raoul claimed that Christine's photo was taken the same time they had their photo shoot, there was no photo of Christine with any of the de Chagnys (save for Raoul) or even Marie Giry. Also, considering that Christine's background is different from that of the other set, it could even be that the photos were taken from completely different studios.

Erik continued to compare the photos; something was definitely amiss.

Why was there no photo of Christine's son? Why was there not even a single mention of Christine's son? Come to think of it, there was something about the first letters that kept niggling at the back of his mind.

_I'm currently with Raoul and I assure you that…About Raoul, I think he would open up about things when he is ready; it is not my place to volunteer information… She is with me now… I would leave Christine to explain her self to you as it is, after all, her life and her decision. I shall respect that by being discrete…_

If I were to take that context and the pictures as proof, Erik tilted his head as he tried to figure things out. It was almost as if, as if…

"They're having an affair, aren't they?"

A/N

Hello! It's been awhile, hasn't it? My apologies… Hopefully, this chapter, which was slightly longer that the previous ones, compensates for the delay.

Now, I would like to acknowledge my dear reviewers for Chapter Three, again, I would like to say that I truly appreciate you finding time to review and comment on my work. Thank you.

--- MJ MOD --- Me --- the Mouse in the Opera House --- Virginie --- Timeflies --- Kalaia ---

Cheers!

Fugue


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

"They're having an affair, aren't they?"

"E-excuse me?" Erik looked up to see Philippe peering over his shoulder, cold realization dawning upon him.

"You heard me." Philippe murmured with something akin to regret and sadness. "Is that not what has been running through your minds?" He moved from his station and addressed his family, who looked up at him, startled. "Why on earth was there not a single mentions of Christine's sons?"

"Philippe!" His wife chided him from her position near her in-laws.

Frances touched Yves' arm lightly. "Yes, Philippe," She replied calmly. "Indeed we have been wondering about that but an affair is not necessarily the conclusion."

"If we drop all pretenses of decorum and honor, would you agree with me, Mother, that my supposition is logical and sound?"

"But -," Erik struggled to articulate his thoughts and failed.

"Going over their letters, there would appear to be more to their story than they are revealing." Maurice exhaled heavily. "I was not sure how to bring out this delicate topic into the open until you voiced it out, Philippe. I do agree that that is the same thought that has been bothering me."

Silence ruled in the room.

Erik observed each de Chagny, speculating what could be running through their minds at the present time. He himself is in turmoil. While he believed Christine is above such subterfuge, he could not help but question Raoul's hold over the woman. Erik cringed. That sounded too close like his marriage…

Maurice finally spoke up. "I believe our family has weathered enough storms and is only beginning to rise again." He held Erik's gaze intently as he uttered this. "I think we are all mature adults who have satisfactory reasons behind our decisions."

"But – they're related to each other!" Philippe bemoaned, placing his head between his hands as he bent in his seat. "I know that we are third or fourth degree cousins with Christine which would make this sordid relationship possible but why must they have it when Raoul has another family? This is more complicated than I thought… I expected more from them."

Erik knew this; Gustave Daae was in fact related to and is a close friend of the de Chagnys which made his decision to leave his daughter to them logical.

"This could be the reason why they have not come quite out into the open." Maurice remarked darkly. "When I read in the paper that they could possibly have a family, it was fine by me – I hardly think it is incest since while we were Christine's guardians, we never did officially adopt her and their blood relationship is quite far. But for them to have this affair…"

"But, Meg Giry," Erik finally found his voice. "She was a close friend of…" He trailed off, not ready to speak of Christine out loud yet.

Philippe took a swig of brandy he had in his glass. "Maybe that's why – they've decided to share him."

"Philippe de Chagny!" His mother scolded him loudly. "I would not hear any more nonsense from your mouth, young man! How dare you speak of them that way!"

Philippe shook off Frances' reproach by shrugging. "I hardly know what to say or believe anymore, Mother."

"I say that we respect Christine and Raoul's decisions." The de Chagny patriarch decreed.

When Philippe motioned as though he begged to differ, Erik spoke up.

"I agree with you sir." He enunciated softly yet clearly. "If they have found happiness at this point, then I agree not to begrudge them such."

Frances could only silently agree with her former son-in-law as he looked at the photograph of Christine and Raoul smiling happily.

---

"Hello Aunt Christine!" Meg and Raoul's eldest daughter bounded towards Christine as she entered Raoul's house. "Have you come to play with us today?" Marcella asked hopefully as she gave her aunt a hug.

"I'm afraid not," Christine replied, scanning the room for son. "I'm here to pick up Angelo from your play date; we need to prepare."

"Oooohh…" Marcella's eyes lightened up. "For the performance?"

Christine nodded at that.

"Can we watch? Oh, can we?" Marcella pulled Christine towards the playroom where she found Raoul horsing around with Gabrielle and Angelo in a game of cops and robber with Raoul being the robber.

"Maybe not yet, dear," Christine gently answered. "Angelo wanted it to be a surprise for you; you get to watch the actual performance." She managed to say before laughing at the scene before her: Raoul being mercilessly tied to the leg of the table by Angelo while Gabrielle was attempting to gag her father.

"No-no-no!" Raoul pleaded as he slowly trashed his head about to avoid giggling Gabrielle's gag. "I won't surrender! You haven't won yet!"

"Oh yes, we have, Uncle." Angelo calmly stated when he triumphantly finished tying Raoul.

"And in good time too." Christine smiled from the doorway.

There was a chorus of greetings from the occupants of the room as they noticed Christine.

"All right, game over guys or at least, for you Angelo. It's prep time."

"Yes, Mama." Angelo scampered off to clean up and fix his things while the de Chagny siblings decided to play tea party at the other side of the room.

Christine sat down beside a tied up Raoul and ruffled his hair. "So, Mr. de Chagny, what grave deed have you committed today to result in such punishment?" She playfully questioned, eyes twinkling.

Raoul flashed her a grin of his. "Well, it's either this or being Mrs. Lizzy in a tea party that would lead to Angelo being the butler, which is something we both rather wanted to avoid."

"Thank you, Raoul."

"Oh, it was nothing." Raoul smiled goofily. "Nothing like babysitting kids to keep me young and virile, as Meg would say." He winked suggestively.

"I'm being serious here." Christine swatted Raoul's arm playfully. "Thank you for being a father figure of sorts to Angelo."

Said father figure brushed the sentiment embarrassedly. "Aww, little Chrissy, you know I'd do anything for my little sister." He said seriously. "I would hug you but," Raoul nodded at the knots. "I'm a bit tied up."

Laughing, Christine moved to untie the knots that Angelo had diligently tied.

"As I've said earlier," Raoul continued with a wicked gleam in his eye. "I'd do anything for my little sister – including setting her up for a blind date with the man of her dreams."

Christine froze. "What the -?"

"Oh you know, as much as I'd want to protect pure ickle Chrissy from the clutches of unscrupulous men, I am concerned for your happiness."

Christine stopped untying Raoul and faced him. "I _am_ happy and I don't need the Giry-de Chagny matchmaking services." She recalled the previous blind date orchestrated by Meg and Marie.

"Christine, please hear me out." Raoul wriggled from his position under the table.

Christine looked at him in the eye.

"We both know that Angelo would need a more permanent and stable father figure than I am demonstrating, don't interrupt me Chrissy," Raoul uttered when Christine motioned to speak. "Also, I don't think his father would agree to having a _sissy_ like me raising his son."

His adoptive sister scrunched up her face. "It's not like he has a choice on the matter."

"He doesn't, but you do."

"Oh?" Christine raised her eyebrow skeptically.

"And that is why you must concede to having dinner with my co-worker -."

"No Raoul!" She exclaimed insistently at Raoul's scheming expression. "This is the third time this year that your family -." She broke off as Angelo came into the room, putting his knapsack on.

"As they say, Christine, third time's the charm."

"No, and that is final." With that, mother and son bid father and daughters goodbye and exited the room.

"Wait a minute! Chrissy! Angelo! Untie me! Marcella! Gabrielle! Help me!"

---

Angelo sat in their living room amidst a collections of sheet music, CDs and the occasionally cassette tape. He has been consulting these objects as to what song he and his mother were to perform.

For the past few days, his mother has been gathering resources for their project. She has borrowed from the school's library and multimedia equipment and even from her co-faculty in search for the perfect duet piece.

Once at home, Christine and Angelo would then peruse the songs, efficiently eliminating several due to one defect or another.

Just this afternoon, Christine brought out her personal collection, which she had stashed in the house's attic the moment she moved in.

"Mama, you have so many pieces here, why don't you play or sing them anymore?" Angelo had commented as he joined her in rummaging in the box.

"Well, these were from my university days, back when I was studying." And performing, thought Christine. "Also, most of the accompaniments cannot be accommodated by our electric keyboard and could only be properly played on an actual piano."

Christine had bought the dance teacher Miss Hansen's keyboard when she moved away to get married. Apparently, her fiancé had a grand piano situated at his city home. Christine would have wanted to buy a piano herself but decided to use the money for other expenditures. Besides, there was not enough room for one; she is still saving money for the construction of a music room.

At present, the twenty-three-year-old mother was methodically sorting the sheet music into piles for duet, chorus and solo performances. Angelo had just finished with the materials recently borrowed from the library and had started on Christine's own collection.

Flipping through clear books and sliding folders, Angelo noticed a manila envelope wedged in a thick clear book. Seeing his mother preoccupied with a sheet music for a chorus, no doubt considering whether or not to teach it to her class, he proceeded to examine the envelope.

Its only label was a scrawl simply saying _For Christine._

The curious boy took out the sheets of paper that the enveloped contained and found handwritten sheet music.

The child's eyes widened, seeing a barrage of notes, sluts, rests, words and accidentals as though lovingly written in a moment of inspiration. Angelo realized that he himself would want to compose something as elegant as the piece before him.

Christine put aside the sheet music she held in her hand, deciding to teach her class said chorus piece. She looked up at her four-year-old son.

"Sweetheart, have you found anything yet?"

Her child absentmindedly shook his head in negative.

"What about that then?" She pointed to the sheet music on his lap. "It seems to me that it has caught your interest as you have taken in out of the clear book."

"No, Mama. I took it out of the envelope."

Alarm bells rang in Christine's mind. "Envelope?"

"Yes," Angelo faced his mother. "I'm just reading the words and looking for the composer's signature. I can't sing this – it's too hard and I cannot understand the words."

"What do you mean?" Christine asked apprehensively; she was not quite sure why the fact that the sheet music came from an envelope was bothering her.

Angelo began to read with a questioning look on his innocent face. "_When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into blo_-?"

Christine chided her son, her face coloring. "Angelo! Give me that!" She reached for the papers which Angelo moved away from her grasp.

"Why, Mama?" He asked curiously. "What do does that mean? How can blood race? It just drips, doesn't it? Who wrote this?" He flipped through the pages, seeking the signature of the composer.

"What does words mean do not matter; it's a complicated song – you won't be able to sing it yet." She finally got the sheets and stuffed it in the envelope, but not before her inquisitive son saw the signature saying _E. Destler_.

"Have you met the composer, Mama?" Angelo asked with a guileless expression.

"What. Why do you ask such a question?" Christine struggled to keep her composure in front of the child who is her daily reminder of said composer.

"Because he wrote it for you – it says so on the envelope. It matches with the handwriting inside, Mama."

Christine looked to the heavens, thanking them for blessing her with an intelligent child, yet at the same time she cursed his father for his hereditary strong brand of logic.

Before his distressed mother could even recover from his previous question, Angelo dropped another bomb.

"Who is _E. Destler_ , Mama?"

His mama shut her eyes and swallowed. "He is a talented man," was her evasive answer.

Not a lie, she thought.

"Mama -."

"However, if we decide to enumerate the many achievements of said talented man, I don't think we will be able to finish our task for today. This would then lead to me having to back out of our performance, would you like that sweetheart?"

Angelo's eyes widened in horror as he gasped. "No, Mama. Of course not."

E. Destler forgotten, or so his mother hoped, E. Destler's son proceeded to go back to choosing a duet.

Christine breathed a sigh of relief as she quickly scanned through the clear books, making sure no envelope was left.

"Sweetheart, I shall be preparing dinner now." She headed towards the kitchen, envelope tucked under her arm, "Just tell me if you have anything you need or any question."

"Yes, Mama."

The former singer entered the kitchen and held the envelope at arms' length, battling with herself whether to open it or not. The sentimental in her won as she found herself lightly tracing the notes her former husband had composed for her.

While she set about preparing dinner, Christine could not help but go back to the time when Erik Destler was her passionate suitor turned businessman and she was Christine Daae, impressionable and idealistic debutante turned singer.

* * *

A/N Thanks for all your support! I really appreciate it.

Please review - criticisms, suggestions, comments and questions are all welcome.

Lyrics from Andrew Lloyd Webber's _Point of No Return_

Fugue


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

"I have called for an emergency meeting today because of a change in plans." Miss Romualdez stated when the faculty meeting convened.

"This concerns the annual talent night and the memo that came from the Office of the Head of Education. Apparently, they shall be holding a contest – a singing contest involving chorales from different schools." She looked at each member of the faculty. "An anonymous benefactor, who is likely to make himself known on the contest night itself, has donated a rather substantial amount of money for this contest. Financial support would be given to the top three winning schools for the purpose of developing their respective music and arts department." The principal focused her attention on Christine. "Miss Daae, I believe this is the opportunity we were waiting for to enhance your department."

The shock of the possibility of a benefactor was still apparent on Christine's face. "Yes, Ma'am, I believe it would do us good. However," She paused hesitantly. "Would it not be difficult to fit this in our schedule? It would seem that it coincides with our annual talent night."

Miss Romualdez smiled. "That's the beauty of it – your chorale will be the one competing. Hence, the contest entry and the talent night number could be the same."

* * *

Erik could not help but notice the young child sitting beside him. He appeared to be about four years old, such a young age to be expected for a child to behave during a musical performance and even show an interest to it.

The child had a rather pleasant face. He was currently dangling his legs off his seat and soaking up the experience of being in an auditorium. Granted, it was not the front row seat, which Erik decided to forfeit for he wanted to have a shroud of anonymity until the last minute. Hence, he had procured seats more towards the middle of the auditorium but near the aisle should he need to escape quickly.

He smiled wanly at the child's enthusiasm at his surroundings. When Erik got to his seat, the child was already there so he had no idea where the child's parents were.

"Hello."

The masked man was startled when the object of his reverie called his attention. The boy was smiling at him.

"It's my first time to be here. I'm Angelo, what's your name?" The boy extended his small hand sincerely.

"I'm… Erik." Erik shook the boy's hand, marveling at the child's candidness.

"We're not strangers now. Mama said I should never talk to strangers." The child, Angelo, remarked pleasantly.

"Indeed." Erik smiled at the boy. It seemed it had been so long since he last smiled.

"Mama's students are going to perform tonight."

"Really now?" Erik's interest was piqued. "Are they any good?"

Angelo's eyes narrowed. "Of course they are! My Mama's their teacher. She's the best!"

Erik could not help but give a low laugh.

"What's so funny, sir?" Angelo's face turned dark. "I'm serious here! Mama IS the best!"

The masked man raised an eyebrow. "Alright. But I won't have expectations. Let's see later when the show starts."

The little boy crossed his arms. He did not look satisfied. "You still don't believe me. But ok. You'll see later. I don't have to point out to you which one is my Mama because she the prettiest and the best."

Prettiest, must be pretty vain and pompous, Erik thought. Out loud, he said, "We'll see. However, in the event that I mistake your mother for someone else - . "

"No, you won't mister." Angelo smiled toothily at him and focused his attention to the stage once more.

Erik just shook his head.

A middle-age woman approached their row and sat a seat apart from the boy. She called the child's attention and the boy greeted her amiably.

Finally, the child is under adult supervision, Erik mused.

He looked around the theater.

A lot of people were still streaming in. Some are whole families with grandparents. Several appeared to be part of the administration of the schools competing that night. The turnout was better than he expected.

Something vibrated inside his pocket. He took out his cellphone and answered it.

"Philippe." The masked man stood up and went to a dark alcove, where it was quiet enough and yet he had a good view of the venue. He scanned the room for the de Chagnys, whom he had invited to the musicale.

"Hello Erik!" Philippe answered jovially. "Where are you now? Dinner's getting cold you know."

"What!" Erik growled. The boy Angelo turned questioningly at him and so Erik lowered his voice. "What dinner do you speak of? I'm at the gala!"

"Oooh. So that's tonight?" Philippe uttered, as though realization just dawned upon him.

"Good grief de Chagny! How many times have I -!" Erik stopped to hear Philippe's laughter. "What's so funny?"

"I'm kidding, old man." Philippe said in between laughs. "We're actually here in the – ow, Mother, I know I shouldn't tease him, I can't resist. OW! Mother stop hitting me. Yes mother, I'll apologize. Erik," Philippe paused getting the laughter out of his system. "I'm sorry for that. But, the way you sounded! YES, Mother. Ok Erik, see you later. Bye."

The business mogul ended the call and pinched his nose bridge.

This is going to be a long night.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the lobby, Frances was not done berating her firstborn.

"Why must you tease the poor man so?" The mother scolded. "Don't you think he's been through a lot as it is?"

"Yes Mother, I know I shouldn't." Her firstborn replied in defense. "But he's been so highly strung for the past week."

"That doesn't give you license to mess with him, dear."

* * *

"Dear me, it seems like I would have to sit elsewhere." Miss Romualdez looked at Angelo worriedly. An usher had approached her, informing her that the principals were to be seated at the VIP area. "They're telling me to go there now for preliminary introductions."

"Don't worry, Miss Romualdez. I promise I'll behave and stay right here." Angelo said, assuring her. "Mama said she'll be sending someone along soon to stay with me. I also promise not to bother Mr. Erik here." He pointed to the man seated near him.

"Well, if you're sure…" Miss Romualdez stood up as the usher gathered her things. "Do behave, young man. Till later."

Angelo turned to Erik. "You don't mind, do you, mister?"

Erik looked startled at being addressed once more by the child. "I beg your pardon?"

"You don't mind sitting beside me, mister?"

Erik raised an eyebrow. "No, I don't."

Angelo grinned at him. "Great. All the better to see you amazed at Mama."

The masked man shook his head at the child's excitement. It pleased him that at least someone other than him was excited for the night.

After checking his mobile phone, Erik leaned back in his seat while keeping an eye on Angelo, making sure he was not about to fall of his seat.

The businessman has spent the past weeks preparing for the gala. He worked with the organizers and was quite involved in its planning as opposed to merely donating money for the sake of corporate social responsibility. Music, after all, was near and dear to his heart.

His heart, Erik wondered, was something he has not given much thought to recently with what all the busy schedule and tasks. He hoped that this would prove to be the night when he gets to prove to himself that he has moved on and become a better person.

He snorted.

Moved on, yeah right. If he were to be honest to himself, he would admit that everything he did for tonight was for Christine – to support the industry they both loved, to prove to her that he was not the monster she thought he was. Christine, it was all for Christine.

Bullocks, he thought, closing his eyes. So much for moving on.

* * *

The program moved along uneventfully, with the Head of Education giving his opening remarks and reading the criteria for judging. He had said that the benefactor would make himself known at the end of the program, during the announcement of winners. He kept the name of the benefactor to himself as a surprise later on.

Erik smirked at this. When he was done with everything at the end of the evening, even the Head of Education would be surprised. After all, there were aspects of the gala that was known only to himself and his head of finances.

Performances started soon afterward with one school after another presenting flawlessly.

Erik enjoyed himself immensely and so did the child seated beside him. He was surprised at how behaved the child was, not chatting during performances and giving a short commentary in between. But he was more surprised at how the child's guardians have still not arrived. He had asked the child about this.

Angelo waved the concern off. "Mama sent Pauline here saying that no one can come here. Mama needs help there." He pointed to the backstage entrance.

Well, the child behaved properly anyways and so it no longer bothered Erik after that. After all, the child was riveted on the activity on the stage.

Despite this, Erik knew the moment his mother's class came onstage.

Angelo sat up straight and moved a bit closer to the edge of his seat. He grinned at Erik and gripped his suited arm. "There she is! There's my Mama!"

"I rather predicted so." Erik murmured to the child before following the figure that the child was pointing at.

Erik froze.

It can't be…can it?

But there was no mistake about it – the woman who led a group of students to their position and with the movement of her arm, bowed to start their performance, and with a smile that Erik never forgot.

It was Christine.


End file.
